Page 6 of Yours on the Canvas

I lean against the doorframe, crossing my arms. “Everything alright?”

He turns, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. “Yeah. You forgot socks. And you’re going to want another sweatshirt. It freezing in Vancouver.”

I let out a dry laugh, walking over to my dresser to haul out a bundle of socks before raiding the wardrobe for a heavy hoodie and a jacket. Lifting them up, I give them a little shake. “That better, Dad?”

He lets out a sharp scoff, though his eyes betray a sudden, unguarded expression, before he drops down onto the edge of the bed next to the suitcase.

I watch him stare down at his hands, and when he looks back up, our eyes lock, and I don’t look away. His expression is warm, carrying a depth of care that feels entirely foreign. It’s how someone looks when they genuinely love you, not that I’d ever really known what that felt like.

My old man never showed me an ounce of affection, and my mother died when I was ten, leaving behind only the memory of heavy, brutal hands.

A sudden wave of suffocating guilt slams into my chest, stealing my breath.

I’m lying to him.

I’ve told both Silas and Finn that I’m flying out for a catering business conference. Finn had thought it hilarious that cafes had official conventions but bought the excuse without a second thought. Finn and Silas had never questioned it because they both trusted me.

Standing here, looking at a man who has quietly become a fixture of safety in my life, the lie tastes like ash in my mouth.

Not a soul in Campbell River knows what I really do when I step off the island.

By the time Silas and Hale finally leave, my nervous system is fried. I’m terrified I’m going to slip up, terrified a stray word will give away the blood and brutality waiting for me in Vancouver.

The second the front door clicks shut; I lean my forehead against the wood and let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief.

Roll on tomorrow.

I need to get out of here, step into the ring, and finally catch my breath.

* * *

I arrive at the Tsawwassen Ferry Terminal and drive onto Highway 17.

Frank sent me directions earlier: Follow Highway 99 until I hit an old composting site further along the coast, then keep going until I find the manufacturing plant he’d acquired for the fights.

I pull up around nine at night. My fight isn’t until eleven, so I’ve got plenty of time.

A neat row of luxury vehicles sits outside the rusted building, so badly out of place they might as well have neon signs over them.

A sleek limo pulls in beside me, and I know immediately that I’m in the right place when a man and woman climb out. She’s wearing a striking red dress, teetering on high heels she clearly isn’t used to walking in, and enough diamonds to light up the car park. He’s considerably older, and my mind immediately goes where yours probably did.

Am I right?

I follow them inside, chuckling as she stumbles across the gravel, her dress dragging through the dirt. The man snaps something at her that I can’t make out. She fires straight back, and whatever she says pisses him off enough that he stalks away, leaving her to navigate the uneven ground alone.

Real fucking gentleman.

The heavy door opens, and low bass and the roar of voices hit me immediately. I catch a glimpse of the warehouse before the door swings shut again.

It’s a full house.

I follow the woman inside, and the heat and noise close around me as the door clicks shut behind us.

Women in designer dresses scream from the edges of the crowd while men roar at the fighters, spit flying as they shout for blood.

In the centre of the warehouse, two men are tearing into each other.

Blood runs from cuts across their faces, but one of them still grins, flashing a broken, bloody tooth.